Wept a pure dew-drop from their snowy bloom,
I wept beside them, while I did unfold
The story of my grief to her dead ear:
I was the living epitaph, that told
Her virtues to the wind, that idly roll'd
Mine offering to the waste, and none did hear
You deem it silly trade ;-but have you lov'd?
And is the maiden of your bosom dead?
And lies your heart within her silent bed?
And has your fancy in delirium rov'd
To seek that which you cannot find on earth?
If so, you will not cast away your mirth
On me, a fellow-sufferer.-It may be
That I shall quickly gain my heavenly birth,
And view the things which mortals cannot see,
Thy mansion, Emily,-thy God,—and thee!
From a Painting by Mr Williams.
AND there they sleep!-the men who stood
In arms before th' exulting sun,
And bath'd their spears in Persian blood,
And taught the earth how Freedom might be won.
They sleep!-th' Olympic wreaths are dead;
Th' Athenian lyres are hush'd and gone;
The Dorian voice of song is fled—
Slumber, ye mighty! slumber deeply on!
They sleep!-and seems not all around
As hallow'd unto Glory's tomb ?
Silence is on the battle-ground,
The heavens are loaded with a breathless gloom.
And stars are watching on their height,
But dimly seen through mist and cloud,
And still and solemn is the light
Which folds the plain, as with a glimmering shroud.
And thou, pale Night-Queen! here thy beams
Are not as those the shepherd loves,
Nor look they down on shining streams,
By Naiads haunted, in the laurel-groves;
THERE have been bright and glorious pageants here,
Where now grey stones and moss-grown columns lie;
There have been words, which earth grew pale to hear,
Breath'd from the cavern's misty chambers nigh:
There have been voices, through the sunny sky,
And the pine-woods, their choral hymn-notes sending;
And reeds and lyres, their Dorian melody,
• The Bowl of Liberty, an allusion to the ceremonies with which the anniversary of the bat
tle of Platea was anciently celebrated.
A single tree appears in Mr Williams' impressive picture.
With incense-clouds around the Temple blending,
And throngs, with laurel boughs, before the Altar bending.
There have been treasures of the seas and isles
Brought to the Day-god's now forsaken throne;
Thunders have peal'd along the rock-defiles
When the far-echoing battle-horn made known
That foes were on their way! The deep wind's moan
Hath chill'd the invader's heart with secret fear,
And from the sybil-grottoes, wild and lone,
Storms have gone forth, which, in their fierce career,
From his bold hand have struck the banner and the spear.
The shrine hath sunk!-But thou unchanged art there
Mount of the voice and vision! robed with dreams!
Unchanged, and rushing through the radiant air,
With thy dark-waving pines, and sparkling streams,
And all thy founts of song!-their bright course teems
With inspiration yet; and each dim haze
Or golden cloud, which floats around thee, seems
As with its mantle veiling from our gaze
The mysteries of the past, the gods of elder days.
Away, vain phantasies! doth less of power
Dwell round thy summit, or thy cliffs invest,
Though in deep stillness now the ruin's flower
Waves o'er the mouldering pillars on thy breast?
Lift through the free blue heavens thine arrowy crest!
Let the great rocks their solitude regain !
No Delphian lyres now break thy noontide rest
With their full chords :—but silent be the strain !
Thou hast a mightier voice to speak the Eternal's reign!
He who hath sail'd upon the pathless seas,
As fleet and free as sweeps the wandering breeze,
Knows how the soul expands as we survey
The shoreless waste-the dread unmeasur'd way;
But who shall paint th' exulting thoughts and high,
Of him who soars into the vaulted sky-
Who to the thunder's secret place doth sail,
Rides on the cloud, and travels on the gale-
And holds through homeless wilds of
space
Free as a spirit loosen'd from its clay?
'Twas so from earth I bounded, midst the roar
Of crowds who cheer'd my launching from the shore
Of this fair world, but as they wav'd farewell,
The last faint sounds came o'er me like a knell ;
As slow they died upon the distant ear,
Dim wax'd the world-the darksome cloud was near:
Still shooting upward to a fearful height,
Far, far beneath I marked the eagle's flight;
But higher rising on the freshening breeze,
The clouds beneath me roll'd like sombre seas.
On, on I sped upon my course sublime,
Nor for a moment thought of Earth or Time;
Till Night's dull curtain o'er the heavens was hung,
And through the skies the hollow tempest sung.
Then down the black profound I speeded fast,
To gain the earth-but, ah! the hour was past!
Low as I sank, I heard the billows roll,
The roar of waters smote my shuddering soul:
All faint with terror, I began to feel
My heart grow sick-my troubled brain to reel;
Yet in that hour the sense was left me still
To hurl each weight from out my vehicle,
Which vaulted upwards from th' abyss once more,
Though not so high but I could hear its roar,-
Wild as the hungry howl, the cry for blood
That wakes each night the desart solitude.
Careering still upon the tempest dire,
I flew through darkness, thunder-cloud, and fire;
The lightnings blaz'd around my lonely head,
While startled Night in sullen darkness fled;
And to myself I seem'd like phantom thing,
Sweeping away upon the whirlwind's wing;
Like spirit of the gloom, whose flying form
Adds tenfold terror to the ruthless storm,
At last upon the ocean, faint and far,
A lone light glimmer'd like a setting star.—
Ob! how I gaz'd upon the distant bark,
Whose ray had made my night so doubly dark;
Which show'd a place of safety on the main,
But also show'd-for me 'twas there in vain !
On, on I flew before the sweeping blast,
And soon the solitary light I past;
Far to the windward set the ocean beam,
But straight before another shed its gleam!
Right on I sped, and as I near'd the light,
Down to the yawning floods I urged my flight,"
And slowly fell beneath the vessel's lea,
Where round her bulwarks rav'd the frenzied sea.
VOL. XV. PART I.
The piercing shriek of agony I gave
Was heard above the roar of wind and wave!
A rope was cast I seiz'd it as it fell,—
And thus was sav'd the wondrous tale to tell!
"TWAS evening mild: the sun's departing eye
Clos'd on the hills that skirt the western sky;
Deep from the grove the stock-dove's notes were heard,
Tuned to the courtship of his listening bird;
Lone in the vale the abbey's tower was seen
Clad in the ivy's venerable green :
From every cot the smoke in columns curl'd,
And sweetness smil'd on all the vernal world.
In such a spot Contentment seem'd to dwell,
Sick of the town, beneath her turf-clad cell :
Sequester'd here from fashion's high-bred trains,
The tenant knows not folly's secret pains;
Unconscious he of half the joys that crown
The taste, the mode, the learning of the town;
Unconscious, too, of all their secret woe,
And all the mighty nothingness of shew.
I wander'd down the vale and pass'd the spot
Where once my guardian held his peaceful cot;
I pass'd the house where oft, with careless look,
I nam'd the letters from the pictur'd book;
I saw the scenes, where, fond of careless play,
On thy blest afternoon, sweet Saturday!
Perhaps 1 rais'd the magpies chattering tongue
I'the airy castle where she rock'd her young;
Or in hand-breadth canals decoy'd the rill
To spout upon my little water-mill;
Or, by the marsh, cut down the hollow cane,
And uninspir'd piped out my noisy strain;
Till my kind friends, in anxious search, descried
Their daubled vagrant by the streamlet's side,
And, wondering at my stay, with sharp reproof,
Led back my footsteps to their humble roof.
But, while I pass'd along, the village tower
Rung through the vale the sweet dismissing hour;
Anon from school the master's stripling crew,
With all the noise of youthful vigour flew.
Round the gay green they wheel'd in sportive chase,
With chubby laughter smirking in each face.
One only came with sad depending brow,
And o'er the threshold ventur'd sour and slow;
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